


Parallax Error

by zillah1199



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Characters to be added, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:40:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kink meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11099.html?thread=44509019#t44509019</p>
<p>I messed up the prompt a bit. Fenris will be travelling with Anders.</p>
<p>TL/DR:<br/>Merrill's mirror transports several DA:2 characters to an alternate universe. A really nice one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of Nowhere

Waking up in Darktown was an experience, one that Anders was altogether too familiar with. For starters, as the name would imply, it was generally dark, regardless of the time. On a good day, some light would trickle through the few small breaches in the wall, though if the sky were heavily overcast, there was little difference between noon and night. If he were being charitable, Anders might say the lack of sun gave the place a sort of gritty, noir ambiance. But really it was just gloomy, grimy and, well, dark. 

It was also noisy. Very noisy. Beyond the creaking shift of the Hightown buildings that squatted above the tunnels settling in their foundations, there were the sounds of innumerable displaced refugees trying to survive. Babies crying, children scrapping and shouting, adults bickering and outright brawling. The snuffling of feral animals hunting for scraps of sustenance, while feral people were doing much the same. The background music of hopelessness and desperation.

Of course there was also the smell, and this was by no means the least of Darktown's unsavoury characteristics. As a healer, Anders had encountered every possible odour a living or dead body could exude, from excretions to infections. As a Warden he'd endured the stench of Darkspawn and Broodmothers, not to mention daily contact with an animate rotting corpse. So when even he found the noxious aroma that greeted him every morning with a figurative punch to the gut appalling, it said a lot about the quality of stink he lived in. 

And there was touch, of course. The stiff discomfort of a too small, rickety cot. In summer, the sticky heat that hung in the undercity like a miasma. In winter, the chilly edge that his thin scrap of blanket never quite banished. His coat, rolled up into a pillow, feathers poking into his face and neck. The all over ache that went deep into his bones, a fact of life, like his never quite sated stomach.

So when he found himself in a plush bed with a soft pillow, bright sun warming his face and the scent of flowers in the air, Anders assumed he was still dreaming. He could hear children laughing outside and felt a warm body behind him. When he looked down and discovered that the arm curled around his (very naked) body was accented with silver-blue lyrium lines, he assumed he was having a nightmare.

He pinched himself, then yelped. Not asleep then. Fortunately he hadn't woken Fenris. He assumed it was Fenris, since he was unaware of more than one lyrium elf in the general area of Kirkwall. 

At least he thought it was Kirkwall. It certainly wasn't his clinic. Squinting around the room, he could tell it wasn't Fenris' mansion, either. For one thing there were no holes in the ceiling. It was clean, so it couldn't be the Hanged Man. Possibly Hawke's mansion. He didn't remember any rooms like this one anywhere in the estate, but it's not like he'd seen all that much of it. Mostly the main rooms, the library and the kitchen, since that's where Hawke's friends tended to gather.

He didn't feel hung over, so it wasn't likely that he'd somehow, against all reason, gotten roaring drunk and ended up sleeping with Fenris. And yet here he was, after obviously  _sleeping with Fenris_ , at least in the sense of having been not-awake in the same bed together. Naked. 

It just wasn't the sort of thing that seemed possible. However attractive Fenris might be, Anders, even in his younger days, wasn't the sort of person who bedded a broody death elf. Who hated him. Not that he was terribly fond of the mage-hating bastard himself. Also he didn't have a death-wish. Even if he had, Justice would never allow...

Come to think of it, Justice was being awfully quiet. 

===

Years as a bodyguard to a widely hated magister, followed by further years of being on the run from said magister had ingrained into Fenris a deep, unconscious sense for when things were not right. If he happened to be asleep when that sense prodded him, his actions were as swift as they were automatic. He would roll out of bed, grabbing his sword from where it rested against the wall at the head of the mattress and spring into sudden readiness, tattoos alight and prepared to defend himself from whatever had stirred him.

He was, therefore, quite surprised to discover, first, that his sword was not where he always,  _always ___kept it. That it was nowhere to be found. Second, that the bed he had just thrown himself out of was not his own. Third, and perhaps most awkward, he was naked. Moreover, he was in room he'd never seen before. He glanced around and noticed someone crouching, trying - and failing - to hide on the other side of the bed. A pair of shocked amber eyes stared at him. He knew those eyes. He stared back, his mind refusing to come to terms with the possibility of himself and Anders, naked in the same room. A room which was obviously a bedroom.

Before the morning could turn into an epic stare-off, Anders stood up, moving slowly, so as not to alarm Fenris. He tried for a relaxed posture and expression, but the best he could manage came out as more like 'somewhat alarmed'.  

“Err,” he gestured lamely at their surroundings. “I didn't do it. Please don't kill me.” 

Fenris straightened from his aggressive crouch. “Do what? Where are we? Where are our clothes?” 

Anders grabbed the sheet from the bed and covered himself. “Nothing? Anything? I don't know and I think that's your armor over there?” 

Fenris looked over his shoulder and saw his armor set up on a stand, his sword and belt hanging from a peg on the wall behind the stand. Anders' staff was propped up against the wall as well. He turned and began dressing. 

“Ah, Fenris?”  

Fenris looked over his shoulder and saw the mage gesturing incomprehensibly at him. “What?” 

“Your hair.” 

“What about my hair?” 

Anders gestured again. Irritated, Fenris pulled a few strands of his bangs down into his face. He stared at them. Coal black. Running his fingers through it, he realized that all his hair was longer than he ever remembered wearing it, pulled into braid that fell just below his shoulders. He turned back to Anders, looking more closely at the mage. “Your hair is also different. And you have..” he waved his hand in the direction of his ear. 

Anders touched his ears. There, in the one lobe, was a hoop, like the one he'd worn so long ago. His hair was longer too. He stood there for a moment, stunned, then touched his chest. The horrible scar, the one he'd had since his merger with Justice, was gone, the skin smooth and unmarred. He pulled the sheet away from himself and looked down, then quickly re-covered himself, face gone pale with shock. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Missing anything important?” 

“My tattoo.” 

“You...have a tattoo.” 

“Apparently not anymore.” 

“Why do you have a tattoo?” 

“I got it in the Wardens. We all got drunk one night and decided we should get matching gryphon tattoos. The Warden-Commander's lover was good with needles. It was actually a pretty nice tattoo.” 

"I see.” Fenris looked at his hands and arms. “Obviously I still have mine. Although,” he paused for a moment. “They do not hurt.” 

“Do they usually?” 

“Always." 

“No wonder you're such a crabby bastard.” 

Fenris said nothing and continued to dress. 

Anders looked around the room. It was a nice room, not large but airy, and the window in the back wall had morning light shining in through the curtains.  
“Where are we? What happened to us? None of this makes any sense.” 

“No, it does not. Something has changed us. Magic, I would assume.” Anders could hear the sneer in Fenris' voice. 

“Oh well, of course the first thing you'd do is blame magic. It's always magic with you.” 

“Do you have a better explanation?” 

“Ah. Well. No, actually. It probably was magic. Unless this is some sort of weird dream or hallucination.” 

"The same one? For both of us?” 

“Well, maybe it's your dream. I certainly wouldn't dream something like this.” 

“I assure you, this is not my dream. If it were, you would not be talking so much. Or at all. Because you wouldn't be in any dream of mine. Which leaves...” 

“Magic.” Anders grumbled. 

“Exactly.” He paused for a moment. “What does your demon have to say about all this. Does it know how we got here?” 

“Justice is not a demon.” Anders frowned. “Justice also seems to be absent. I can't hear him at all. Or feel him. It's strange, it's like he's...gone.” 

“That is one bit of good news, then.” Next to the armor stand, Fenris found a large wardrobe filled with a variety of clothing. “Some of these appear to be mage robes.” 

Anders hurried over and began searching through the garments. “I don't see my coat.” 

“Another bit of good news. Perhaps the day is looking up after all.” 

“The Warden-Commander gave me that coat!” 

“No wonder you ran away.” 

“Oh, ha ha. We get magically sent to some weird place and you decide to develop a sense of humor.” Anders picked out a set of robes in gorgeous shades of teal and amber, exactly the sort of thing he'd worn years ago, before Justice, before Kirkwall. He pulled them on, sighing at the feel of silk against his skin. He twirled, letting the skirts billow around his legs. “What do you think?” 

Fenris sneered. “You look like a magister.” 

“Ah, but a very handsome magister, I'll bet.” 

“At least there are no feathers.” 

“That wasn't a no!” 

Fenris huffed, and turned away to peer out the bedroom window. “I don't think we are in Kirkwall any longer.” 

Anders sidled up to him and looked outside as well. There was a window box full of herbs and flowers beneath the sill. A small garden extended out from the back of the building. The sky was a bright and cloudless and a number of pleasant little cottages, many with their own gardens, dotted the area behind them. A few elven children were playing outside one of the houses. 

Anders turned away and began scrutinizing the room. It was obviously well lived in, but neat and clean. Passing through the door he found a living area with a sturdy, well worn table, a settee and few other furnishings including a number of shelves groaning under the weight of books, most of them magical in nature. Anders scanned the titles and found many he recognized as well as a number of volumes he'd longed for but never been able to acquire. Others he'd never even heard of. Off the living area was a tidy little kitchen. Poking around he found an ice-box, similar to the one Hawke had in his mansion, the ice rune carved clearly on the surface and the contents nicely chilled. After a few moments he was able to scrounge up eggs, bread, some fruit, a bit of sausage and tea. 

“Hey Fenris, you want some breakfast?” 

Fenris wandered out. “Should we be eating the food? This is not even our house.” 

“Well, maybe whoever owns it kidnapped us and left us here, in which case, I think they owe us breakfast.” 

Just then Fenris' stomach growled. “I suppose I must agree, then.” 

Great!” Anders went back into the kitchen and started cooking. 

=== 

“So..” Anders finished off the last of his tea. 

Fenris merely raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Now that we've eaten breakfast, and a delicious breakfast, if I do say so myself, we should probably try and figure out what's going on. How we got here. Wherever  _here_  is.” He waved his hand in the air. “I mean we're obviously someplace strange, certainly nowhere I've ever been, and something has happened to change us. At least I think we're changed. Maybe it's an illusion. I've never heard of any magic that can do that but maybe you have. In Tevinter, I mean. Shame, really, being able to change your looks could have come in handy for me. During my many escape attempts, I mean.”  

Anders was aware he was babbling, filling the silence with chatter. He'd done that a lot, in the old days. But that was then. Now, here he was, stuck in Maker knows what kind of magical misadventure with probably the worst conversationalist in all of Kirkwall. Why couldn't he have wound up lost with Varric. Worst of all was the silence inside of his head. With Justice quiet or even absent, Anders was overwhelmed. Granted Justice could be a horrible nag sometimes. A lot of the time, really, but he was still a companion. Anders' closest companion, after all these years. Someone who was always there, always with him to fill the rattling quiet that Anders just couldn't bear. With Justice he'd never had to fear darkness or loneliness. But Justice was gone, and Anders found himself reverting to old habits. Fenris, uncooperative as always, simply sat there. 

“So?” Anders resorted to verbal prodding. Any other kind of prodding would be both unhelpful and unwise in the extreme. 

“Not exactly.” 

“Which means?” 

"I believe it is possible, for a blood mage holding someone in thrall, to convince that person that the mage is someone else. Not an illusion per se, since the magister's appearance would not actually change.” 

“Huh.” 

“Quite.” 

Anders gritted his teeth. “So that leaves, entrapment in the Fade, displacement in time, and dimensional dislocation.” 

“Do any of those seem likely?” 

“Well, it would take a very powerful spirit to defeat Justice and pull us into its domain. And nothing here seems like the sort of thing that should happen when a demon takes someone over. Usually they try to entice you. They present a scenario that's so engaging, so deeply emotionally or physically fulfilling that you don't want to leave. In fact, you shouldn't even be aware that something is different, at least not at first. But something like this, something strange and confusing, well, that invites questions, which is the last thing any demon would want. There are a few demons that ensnare their victims in order to torture them but that's really, really rare. And it generally involves, you know, torture. We're not exactly suffering, here.” 

Fenris eyed him balefully. “Speak for yourself, mage.” 

“Riiight. So. Next is time travel, and I don't even know if that's possible.” 

“I had heard rumors of magisters investigating the possibility many years ago, but as far as I know, nothing came of it.” 

“Well, if that were it, we can't have gone forwards, because I'm missing things from my past – tattoos, scars. Even a few small scars I got as a kid.” 

Fenris tilted his head. “No. You look younger, actually. Healthier, somewhat. But my hair has been white for as long as I've had my markings. I do not even know if it was  _ever_  black.” 

“So. That leaves some sort of alternate reality.” He frowned for a moment. “I vaguely remember something about that. About the eluvians, I think. That they'd been used for moving instantly across great distances, and possibly across dimensions. Something the Warden-Commander said about chasing a witch through one.” He put his head in his hands. “Merrill. Something about Merrill.” 

Fenris' eyes grew wide. “Yes! I remember something about Hawke and Merrill. Hawke sending me to fetch you.” He smirked. “It seems that all this is Hawke's fault, as usual.” 

Anders chuckled. “Why am I not surprised.” 

“But what happened?” Fenris poured himself a second cup of tea and frowned into it. 

The two of them were quiet for awhile, dredging their memories. “So, think! Hawke; Merrill; what do you remember?” Anders gave Fenris another verbal prod. 

Fenris frowned, squinching his eyes shut. “I encountered Hawke in the market. Frantic over Merrill. I was to fetch you because Merrill was trapped or lost or ...” He shook his head. 

“Yes! Merrill was enthralled by that demon mirror of hers and none of Hawke's spells were working. Not on her, not on the mirror. Hawke was afraid it was killing Merrill, draining her somehow. When we got there, Merrill was just sitting on the floor, staring at it, almost touching it. Like she was frozen. The surface of the mirror looked cloudy, sort of. Not blank like it usually does. It felt like something was there, just behind the glass.” Anders shuddered. 

Fenris snorted and sipped his tea. Apparently he drank quite slowly when wine wasn't involved. “Hawke wanted help freeing her. We tried shaking Merrill, I tried touching her with my markings lit. Then the two of you tried casting together. Even your combined spells did nothing.” He wracked his brain. The memories were there, but too slippery to grasp for more than a moment. “Ah! I have it now. We tried everything else we could think of so Hawke finally agreed to smash the damned thing.” 

“Right. Merrill was weak. Her heart rate was low, too low. She was hardly breathing and her lips were turning blue. Hawke said she'd been staring at that bloody thing for hours. You were supposed to break the glass while Hawke protected us from shards with a shield spell and I was supposed to try healing Merrill at the same time.” 

Fenris grimaced. “It should have been destroyed years ago.”

“Much as I hate to say it, I agree. But Hawke's always been a blighted fool where Merrill's concerned.” 

“Mmh.” 

“I mean, I could understand it if they were involved, but Merrill's never shown the least bit of interest in Hawke. And Hawke's so bloody obvious. She has to have noticed.” 

Fenris nodded his head in a maybe yes/maybe no gesture. “I had thought once that Merrill fancied Carver, but nothing came of it it. Obviously.” 

“Yes, well, the whole 'joining the Templars' thing would put a lid on that pretty quickly.” 

“Indeed.” 

“Anyway,” Anders realized he was babbling again. “So I was casting, Hawke was casting and you did your glowy thing and smashed the mirror.” 

“Tried to smash the mirror.” Fenris corrected him. “There was some strange resistance. It was not Hawke's shield spell. That would have felt different. It was strange, it felt like trying to punch water.” 

Anders blinked at him. “Have you ever actually tried to punch water?” 

Fenris gave him a baleful look over the rim of his teacup. “As I said, I _tried_ to smash the mirror. Then my markings felt like they were on fire, like they were being pulled out of my skin. I wanted to scream, but could not. After the pain, there was nothingness. And then...” 

“And then we were here.”  
== 

A quick tour of the cottage showed that, in addition to what they'd already seen, there was a luxurious bathing room, complete with dwarven plumbing and a large bathtub and another smallish room that was largely empty except for a small rack of weapons which Fenris declared to be a 'practice area'. That room had a door that opened into the garden they had noticed earlier. A small child in the next yard waved enthusiastically when Fenris opened it. He waved back, somewhat awkwardly. 

“That was not helpful.” Fenris declared when they returned to the kitchen. 

“Well. The neighbor recognized you. Maybe you live here.” 

“Why would I live in a house with mage robes and mage books?” 

“I don't know. A weird fetish?” 

Fenris snorted. 

“Well then, maybe you're a demented mage serial killer. You lure them here by promising to show them your magnificent 'volumes', then kill them, bury them in the back and save their robes as creepy souvenirs." 

Fenris stared at him incredulously. “That is the best you can come up with?” 

“Well...” 

“That's ridiculous. If I were going to kill mages I would certainly not keep anything of theirs. And I would burn the bodies so they could not be revived or possessed. Obviously.” 

“Okaaay. Good to know.” Anders edged away a bit. “So, anyway. Nothing else to find here, right?” 

“It seems not.” They both stared at the main door. Finally, Fenris shrugged and pushed it open. “We may as well see what's out there.” 

'Out there' proved to be a cluster of charming little cottages much like the ones they had seen through the bedroom window. A low wall on one side looked out over the sea. Humans and elven children played together in the open areas. An old woman looked up from weeding a small garden. “Morning, Healer, Fenris.” Anders waved back and Fenris nodded at her. 

“Well, the locals seem to know us. Shall we look around?” 

They hadn't made it far when Anders caught Fenris' arm and stopped him, pointing at a large building with open doors and a lantern hanging over the entrance. 

“That looks like..” 

"Your lantern. It does.” 

Inside, Anders looked around. “This is not my clinic.”

“No. It is in much better condition.” It was. The whole area was clean and well supplied. The shelves were full, the cots were sturdy and windows let in the morning sun. A small boy was having his arm bandaged by a pretty, buxom young brunette woman. A man with dark red hair in a Chantry robe was quietly instructing a small group of teenagers in what looked like potion-making. 

“Sebastian?” Anders called out incredulously. The man turned around. It was indeed, Sebastian Vael. 

“Anders! Fenris!” The archer approached them and gave them each a brief embrace. “What're you doing here?” He laughed. “Can't leave the place out of your sight for a minute, can you? Shame on you. You've far too much to do today to be fussing about in here. Everything's well in hand, as you can see.” 

“Ah, yes, so it is.” Anders found himself floundering. 

“Don't go worrying about us. Bethany's got the healing well in hand, and the rest of us can handle all the mundane tasks. As you well know.” He waggled his finger in Anders' face. “Now, shoo! I'd better not see you again until you get back. Except for tomorrow night, of course.” The priest winked at them, and returned to his students. The young woman, presumably Bethany, waggled her fingers at them and returned to bandaging her patient. Anders and Fenris left the building, utterly mystified. 

“Well. That was...interesting.” Anders scratched the back of his head. 

“Indeed.” 

The continued on until they came to an oddly familiar set of stairs. 

“Wait, isn't this...” 

"Yes. We are in the Qunari compound.” 

“Minus the Qunari. Looks like we're in Kirkwall after all.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow, out of all the places in this strange version of Kirkwall, the one that had changed the least was the Hanged Man. 

This Kirkwall was odd. Not bad. In fact, it was a distinct improvement over the one they were used to. The houses were much nicer, the population appeared better off; happier and healthier. There seemed to be little discernable difference between elves, humans and dwarves in terms of status or prosperity. The city was still divided between Hightown and Lowtown, but there was no alienage that Fenris or Anders could see, and while Hightown seemed to be mostly human in population, the pair did witness one elaborately dressed elven woman who was clearly out shopping with her human servants. Overall, the city seemed prosperous. Even the denizens of Lowtown seemed to share in this improved Kirwall. There were poor people, obviously, but they lacked that air of resigned fatigue, the one that came after desperation. The one that set in with the realisation that nothing was ever going to change. That there was no hope in sight. No hope at all. Kirwall was filled with it. Anders saw it every day, so the absence of it here, in this place that almost looked like home was particularly poignant.

Eventually they came to the Hanged Man. This oddly similar Hanged Man. It wasn't identical. It was a little bit cleaner, not quite as seedy . Several questionable stains that Anders distinctly remembered were missing. Corff was still tending the bar, looking much the same. Norah weaved her way through the crowd with the same expertise. Anders stopped and looked around the room, a slow smile spreading over his face.

Fenris narrowly missed running into the mage's back and blinked at him, irritated. “What is it?”

“I can have a drink. A real drink. As many as I want.” There was no answering outcry of indignation inside his head. He let out a slightly hysterical giggle. “Ale, whiskey, rum. I can have a real, wonderful, delightfully alcoholic drink.”

Fenris grimaced and looked around the bar. It wasn't that different from their own Hanged Man, after all. “And you would do that here?”

“Beggars can't be choosers.” Anders headed gleefully over towards Corff. A minute later he came back with a tray of mugs and a glass of wine. “Corff says Ferelden's being overrun with pigeons.”

Fenris eyed the tray. “You intend to drink all of those?”

“Eventually.”

“Do you think now is a good time to be drunk?”

“Warden stamina. I'll be fine. Shall we see if Varric's in?”

“Assuming Varric even lives here.”

“Good point.”

***

“Blondie! Broody! Wasn't expecting to see either of you till later.” The dwarf, looking remarkably like himself, greeted them at the entrance to his suite. Since they had half expected him to be as changed as everything else they'd encountered, it was strangely reassuring. The thought of Varric without his chest hair and jewelry, or worse yet, buried under an elaborate beard, was just too much to imagine. 

“Little thirsty, there Blondie?” Varric eyed the tray in front of Anders. Fenris delicately removed his single wineglass and cocked an eyebrow at the mage.

“I'm celebrating.” Anders replied loftily. He tossed back the contents of one mug, then promptly began coughing .

“I'll bet you are,” Varric laughed as Fenris pounded Anders on the back.

“Holy Maker, that was,” Anders gasped for air, staring in shock at the empty flagon. “That was...delicious.”

“Not so loud,” Varric hissed at him, peering past the open door to the suite. “That's the good stuff he keeps in the back. Strictly for our little group. Word gets out, everybody'll want some.”

“There's good stuff?” Anders stared dazedly at the tray. “Why didn't anyone tell me before this? Why didn't I know there was good stuff?”

“Hey, not my fault you prefer cider, or those fruity wines Fenris likes.”

Anders glared at Fenris. “Has there always been good stuff? Have you all been holding out on me all this time?” 

Fenris shrugged noncommittally. “Did you really think Hawke would continue to drink swill now that money is no longer an in issue?”

"Maybe?"

“So what brings you two here? Thought you'd both be home relaxing, enjoying your time off.”

“Ah, well, we...”

“We just thought we'd stop in and see our favourite dwarf,” Fenris cut in smoothly as he and Anders exchanged a glance. Neither one of them had survived as runaways by trusting just anyone.

Varric narrowed his eyes at the two of them. “Uh huh. You do remember you're supposed to meet up with Hawke later?”

“Of course.” Anders started drinking another tankard. Slowly, now that he realised it was worth savouring.

Varric snorted. “Right. Don't worry, we all made Hawke promise not to drag you off on some crazy mission. It's about time the two of you took some time off, even if we had to force you to do it kicking and screaming. You work too hard, the both of you. Nobody's allowed to give you any jobs, missions or errands for at least a week. Not Sebastian, not Bethany, not Aveline, not even Hawke. So relax. Enjoy yourselves. You've earned it.”

Fenris and Anders shared another glance. One that clearly debated how much they could tell this version of Varric. How much they could trust him and how little they actually knew about this world that was both like and unlike their own.

“If bothering us is off the table, what is Hawke up to today?”

“Meeting you back at your place, if the caravans return on schedule today.”

Another shared glance. Anders quirking an eyebrow and Fenris grimacing. Anders lifting a shoulder and Fenris responding with a slight nod.

“I hate it when you two do that.”

“Do what?”

“Have those conversations, with the eyebrows and the face twitches. If didn't know better I'd say you two don't trust me. And considering how much trouble I've gone to to make the next few days run smoothly, if I thought you didn't trust me, I'd be very offended. Fortunately, I've known you long enough to know better. So what's going on?”

“Going on?”

“Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Blondie, I'm way out of your league. Come on, spit it out."

Another exchange of eyebrows. Anders took a long pull from his mug. “Exactly how long have you known us?”

Varric raised an eyebrow of his own. “What is this, a pop quiz? I've known you about 7 years, more or less. Broody here about five. Why?”

Anders frowned slightly, his own mental tally being slightly different.

“And how long have you known Hawke?” Fenris asked.

Varric laughed. “As long as I can remember. Our folks were good friends. I've known all the Hawkes my whole life. You know that.”

“Hmm. I think this will require more than merely one glass of wine.” He crossed to the door and signalled Norah from the top of the stairs.

“My turn again, then.” Anders toyed with his earring, distracted by the strangeness of wearing one again. “How about Sebastian, then? How long have you known him and how long has he worked in my clinic?”

Varric leaned back, eyes narrowed at his two friends. Something strange was going on, but he couldn't put his finger on it. “About three years to both. He came to Kirkwall with a couple of mage transfers from Starkhaven. He wanted to be useful, so the Grand Cleric sent him to you. Worked out pretty well for the both of you. Why are you asking me, he's your best friend.” 

Anders gaped at the dwarf, ignoring the Fenris' dry chuckle behind him.

Fenris used the claws of his gauntlet to remove the cork from his bottle of wine. Varric eyed him strangely as he drank straight from the bottle.

“Nerves getting to you, Broody? Didn't see that coming.”

Fenris sighed, setting the bottle on the table in front of them. “Humour us, Varric. What would you say if I told you that I remember some of the things you've us somewhat differently.”

“I'd say you need to cut back on that wine.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps. Tell me this then, how did you meet us?”

“Little early for a bedtime story, but I'll bite.” Varric put his feet up on the table. “I met Blondie here through the Hawkes. It was back when that bad bout of wasting sickness went through the Free Marches. Lot of people came down with it. Lot died. The Circle did what they could, but there just weren't enough healers. Meredith and Orsino sent out the call for more, as many as we could get. You were one of them." He nodded at Anders. "Karl recommended you. Said you were the best spirit healer he'd ever known.”

Anders choked on his ale. “You knew Karl Thekla?”

Varric smiled. “Course I do. Still owes me ten silver from Wicked Grace the other night. Bastard took off on a trade run before he paid me.”

Anders turned a bit pale and clutched the edge of the table. “A minute. I need a minute.” He put his head in his hands, lacing his fingers together to stop his hands from shaking.

“Blondie? You okay?”

“Fine, I'm fine. Go on.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Fenris giving him a strange look. He waved his hand, muttering that he'd explain later.

“Right. Well, like I said. A lot of people died. Aveline's husband was one of them. And Malcolm. Malcolm Hawke.” Varric closed his eyes, the memory obviously still painful. “You did your best, but by the time you got here from Ferelden, they were just too far gone.” He sighed. “Kirkwall had been short enough on healers before the sickness so Orsino petitioned to make your transfer permanent. You opened the clinic, the Chantry gave you that nice little cottage, and you've been here ever since.”

“They didn't lock me up in the Gallows?”

“Why would they do that?” Varric took in Anders' shaken demeanour and the look of slight confusion on Fenris' face. “Okay boys, playtime's over. Just what is going on here. You two aren't acting like yourselves. And this dwarf wants to know why.”

“No story about how you met me?” Fenris tapped the side of his wine bottle.

“You escorted your sister here for her wedding.” He didn't miss the sudden noise as the elf's gauntlets twitched against the bottle.

“I...see.” Fenris glanced at Anders, who was aggressively finishing his second mug of ale. “You said Anders came here from the Ferelden Circle, not from the Grey Wardens?”

“The what?”

“The Grey Wardens. He was posted in Amaranthine with the Grey Wardens.”

“Broody, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Anders nearly dropped his empty mug. “The Wardens, you know, fighting the Darkspawn, ending the Blight.” Varric stared at him blankly. “Archdemons? Hero of Ferelden? Anything?” 

When Varric failed to respond, Anders stared at the Fenris in shock. “No Wardens. No Blight.” He gave a slightly hysterical giggle. “No Darkspawn. I'm not Tainted.”

Fenris eyed the assortment of mugs warily. “And no Warden stamina, apparently.” He edged the tray out of Anders' grasp.

“What's he on about, Broody?”

“What do you know about eluvians, Varric?”

“Enough with the twenty questions. How about some answers.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that the mage and I came here through an eluvian from another version of Kirkwall, one that is...somewhat different from this one.”

“I'd say you definitely need to cut back on the wine. What the fuck is an eluvian?”

“An ancient and magical elven artifact, one that allows travel across vast distances, and apparently across dimensions as well. Where we come from, I am an escaped slave from Tevinter, Anders is a possessed apostate and we have only known each other, and you, for a little over three years. We are all friends with Hawke, who came to Kirkwall as a refugee from Ferelden during the last Blight.”

“Huh. That's quite a story you have there. I'm a little hesitant to believe it, considering you look exactly the same as the Blondie and Broody I've known for years.”

“We have apparently switched bodies with our counterparts, rather than being physically transported. At least that is what we assume, since the abomination's demon did not travel with him.”

“He's not a demon. And I'm not possessed anymore. Or wait. Maybe I am, since I'm a different me in my own body. Hah! That means you're also possessed. You're an abomination now, too. What do you think of that?”

Fenris glared at him. “I think I am not drunk enough for this. And you are too far too drunk.”

Anders' hands flashed briefly with a light healing aura. “Not anymore. Guess magic is good for some things after all.” He wiggled his fingers and smirked as Fenris grimaced at him. Then he slid the tray of ales back to his side of the table. 

“So that just leaves me with one question, boys.”

“Only one? Clearly you are a paragon of restraint as well as manliness.” Fenris pointedly ignored Anders as the mage downed another tankard.

“Does this mean the wedding is off?”


End file.
